


Teufelsaustreibung

by blackazuresoul



Category: Trinity Blood
Genre: Dark, Implied Underage, M/M, Mindfuck, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Rape/Non-con References, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-13
Updated: 2012-07-13
Packaged: 2017-11-09 22:07:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/458982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackazuresoul/pseuds/blackazuresoul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dietrich is taught in no uncertain terms that no one ever escapes the consequences of their choices. But will he learn?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Teufelsaustreibung

Isaak sat in his library, perusing an old book. A tidy fire crackled in the hearth to warm the room’s sole occupant, lending just enough light to read by. A knock came to the heavy wood door and Isaak bade the person enter. It was a rare occurrence when Dietrich actually knocked and the mage let a grin ghost across his lips before parting them for one of his cigarillos.  
The lighter clicked closed and Isaak exhaled his lungfull, the sweet smoke perfuming the air of the library as his protégé crossed the carpet.  
  
“Good evening, Isaak,” Dietrich purred and availed himself of the chair opposite the raven, crossing his lithe legs. He folded his hands in his lap and let his eyes glide over the other man. Isaak turned a page in his book, the parchment ruffling as it fell into place. He didn’t bother looking up.  
  
“Ah, the libertine returns,” he murmured and adjusted his wireframes then ashed his smoke. “Left it a tad late, have we not?” Isaak tacked on and took another drag off his cigarillo. Dietrich sat back in the chair, his hands now laying over the arms of the seat. His crossed foot bobbed idly then rolled once.  
  
“My business with the Count is concluded, yes. Things are going precisely as planned.” Dietrich peered at the sideboard just to the right of a bookcase and he rose up to avail himself of a drink. Isaak watched over his glasses as the young man uncapped the chrystal stopper to his best brandy. Dietrich selected a delicate snifter and poured a few fingers of the expensive liquor into the bowl. “So very facile. I should be ashamed of myself, really,” he remarked and put the bottle back in its place then turned to face his mentor as he sipped at the brandy.  
  
“A point to which I grow tired of reminding you,” Isaak countered evenly and extinguished his cigarillo. He slipped off his glasses and set them on the endtable with his book, finally meeting the redhead’s eyes. “A month, Dietrich? If it was so easy, why did it take so long?” Grey eyes followed the young man back to his chair and Isaak rested his chin in the cup of his hand as Dietrich swirled the alcohol in the glass.  
  
“Gyula wasn’t going to simply let a lowly Terran into his home without a bloody good reason,” Dietrich informed his mentor then took another sip of his purloined drink. “And I provided the reason.” Caramel eyes blinked demurely and he licked his lips. “Vengeance does tend to cloud the mind to a singular purpose. It only took the barest of shoves to enable the good Count to let me help him realise his dreams.” An angelic smile caressed Dietrich’s lips and he raised his snifter again. “It’s too bad the party ended.”  
  
Isaak sat back into the chair, steepling his fingers as he regarded his charge. “Retribution often means that we eventually do to ourselves what we have done unto others.” The mage cocked his head, the mask of ennui slipping for only a second. “And precisely _how_ did you persuade Gyula to grant you access to the Star of Sorrow?” Each pad of his finger rippled against its twin then stilled and he let the corner of his mouth curl.  
  
“Do you really want to know, Sir?”  
  
“Yes, I do,” Isaak replied and his fingers folded to prop his chin as he held the other’s gaze. Dietrich balanced the foot of the glass on his thigh and slowly traced the wide rim with the gloved tip of a finger.  
  
“Let’s just say a few troublesome things slipped his mind, and we’ll leave it at that,” he told Isaak with a hint of a smirk and finished off the brandy. Dietrich set the glass on the small table next to him and watched Isaak leave his chair. The raven paced over to him and collected the empty snifter, a dark smile on display.  
  
“Ah, yes. His deceased wife one of those items, I take it,” he stated more than asked and gingerly held the glass. Dietrich smiled up at the older man and let his crossed leg move until only its ankle rested on his knee.  
  
“Strange. For as outwardly devoted as our Marquis was to the woman, it turns out absence _doesn’t_ make the heart grow fonder, after all,” Dietrich drawled with a curt giggle, one that the mage shared before breaking the snifter across the redhead’s cheek.  
Dietrich’s palm shot to cover the injury, the force of the impact turning his head as he sucked in a pained breath.  
  
“Your contrivances are beginning to bore me, Dietrich,” Isaak calmly said and dropped the foot of the snifter to the floor. “One wonders if you can do anything that doesn’t involve being on your back.” Isaak’s boots crunched through the shattered glass and he tipped Dietrich’s chin up to meet his eyes. “You were only ordered to install the subroutine into the mainframe, my dear. I should have known you’d turn a simple command into an opportunity to whore around.” Issak’s thumb captured a drop of blood that had breached the cut on Dietrich’s cheek. The digit then arced along the young man’s lower lip. Dietrich captured it between his teeth and flicked the tip of his tongue along the pad.  
Isaak pulled his thumb from Dietrich’s mouth and his hand tightened its grip on his chin. “No comment, boy?” he prodded and Dietrich nearly smiled.  
  
“I was actually surprised how quickly he cast aside the fact that he was straight, Isaak,” he replied, his lips finally catching up to the amused flash of his gaze. Grey eyes hooded slightly as Isaak’s fingers followed the curve of the underside of Dietrich’s chin, dragging thin lines of blood along the tender flesh.  
  
“Please keep digging, Marionettenspieler,” Issak smoothly purred. His hand left Dietrich to sample the scant leavings of blood on his fingertips. As always, the boy’s blood tasted so much better when laced with fear and just a tiny touch of disgust and arousal. Nearly there. “I suppose the Marquis could tell you're a good fuck just by the way you wear a mask of purity, ja? Such delusive innocence that begs to be defiled.”  
Isaak idly sucked on the tip of his index finger as he walked to his drinks cupboard. He poured himself a glass of claret and turned to observe Dietrich draw fingers over the wound on his cheek.  
  
The devil smiled at his mentor and he shed his ruined gloves, letting them fall carelessly from his hand. Dietrich slung a leg over the arm of his chair and folded hands at his waist. “I didn’t have to beg, Meister,” he told Isaak and glanced down at his fingernails. He rubbed them once against his Orden jacket and his attention returned to the raven. “I think His Excellency was far too intrigued to require my begging.” Caramel eyes shadowed in a singular blink then narrowed impishly. “Or at least his ego wasn’t as fragile to warrant it.”  
  
Isaak slipped a dark smile into his glass of wine then lowered the vessel. “Charming to the last,” he declared then crossed the floor to resume his seat. As he passed Dietrich, his hand brushed over the young man’s propped leg, departing at the knee. Isaak crossed his legs and he set the glass next to his book then lit another cigarillo. “So can I take it that we’ll have another corpse shuffling around here for you to screw when you don’t get your way? Or was this a passing fancy?” he asked through a veil of smoke. Isaak knew the boy was baiting him, as usual. Dietrich would goad him until the mage gave in and fucked him into next week. As the years rolled by, it became clear to Isaak that his protégé was as much a masochist as he himself was a sadist.  
  
“No,” Dietrich replied coolly with a dismissive wave. “One disappointing bang and the novelty wears off.” He cocked his head with a devious leer. “Besides, there’s really no one around I could use him to torment– except _you_ ,” he dared and Issak’s brow slowly lifted as he sipped his wine. The brat was pushing it tonight and Isaak was letting him. He was anxious to see how far Dietrich would go before he’d realise his idiocy or have it _explained_ to him. Isaak reclaimed his cigarillo, a long draw resulting in a slow exhale of blue-grey smoke that curled sensually from his lips.  
  
“How very droll, pet,” Isaak drawled sarcastically and ashed his smoke, rolling the tip to a fine point in the tray. “You certainly have ideas above your station. Though if you expect me to believe your interlude with the Count was a singular session, you have quite another thing coming.” Dietrich’s smile returned and he licked his lips. His cheek throbbed painfully as he did but he ignored it and one of his hands dropped to undo the buttons of his jacket.  
  
“You will believe what you wish to believe, Sir,” he hummed and loosed the knot in his tie. The silk slid through his thin fingers then drifted to the floor as the mage watched him. “For _Mein Herr_ , I am willing to make any sacrifise.” Smoke snorted from Isaak’s nose and he allowed a very brief chuckle to escape with it.  
  
“I’m so pleased to hear it, Dietrich. And as a reward for your faithful service to Him, and– by extension– me, I shall tell you a bedtime story,” Isaak offered with a smirk then put out his smoke and exhaled the last lungfull.  
He snapped his fingers and the shadows of the room oozed from the corners; hot, red eyes fixed on the redhead as they slowly traversed the carpet. Dietrich’s eyes widened as they drew nearer and he got to his feet in effort to evade them.  
  
“Meister, please!” he breathed and Isaak picked up his wineglass, sniffing at the fragrant bouquet within. Like a black fog his shadow daemons writhed along the handwoven rug and pinned Dietrich to one of the bookcases, phantom hands toying with the hem of his trousers. Dietrich knew what the magician’s shadows were capable of, he had seen them rend a Methuselah from his bones when their master was in a particularly bad mood.  
  
A cool tendril crawled around the boy’s right leg in slow, sensual movements and Isaak stood, a malicious grin flirting with his lips as he crossed his arms. “Strip,” he ordered. Dietrich’s hands failed to obey him, remaining curled around the edge of a shelf behind him.  
  
“Isaak, I–“  
  
“Now. Or do you require assistance?” The shadows surged with their master’s mood and Dietrich’s hands came forward to shrug off his jacket. He unbuttoned his shirt and Isaak glanced up at the grandfather clock in the far corner of the room. “I suggest you hurry, _alter Herr_. They grow impatient.”  
Starched linen fell to the floor and Isaak followed every dip and curve of the flesh that was bared to him. The boy was simply beautiful, like a porcelain doll that held the devil’s soul. How many times had he been inveigled by the pale expanse of a leg or the enchanting network of blue veins that ran beneath Dietrich’s fragile skin?  
  
Isaak had watched Dietrich grow from a mildly interesting imp of a waif to the personification of temptation and had enjoyed him every step of the way. He remembered the first time he’d taken the boy and after seven years of nothing more than sheer willpower preventing him from killing the child in a moment of unchecked lust, Isaak took what he felt he’d earned through such forbearance.  
But as Dietrich grew up, so did his ego– and his hubris– and their _associations_ became more and more violent. Like a child, Dietrich would test him, quickly learning when one plays with fire, they always get burnt. However, it amused Isaak how often his protégé would foolishly stoke the flames.  
  
The mage took off his jacket as Dietrich stepped out of his trousers and he clicked his tongue when it was apparent the redhead lacked undergarments. “I don’t know why I’m surprised,” he murmured and crooked his finger, beckoning him. The shadows parted as Dietrich cautiously approached him, his narrow shoulders trying to hang on to a confident set.  
Isaak’s lashes fanned his cheeks as he reached out that hand to draw fingertips down the centre of Dietrich’s chest. They finished along his limp shaft and Isaak hooked the boy’s cock with his finger, gently lifting the organ. “What’s the matter, Liebling? Not enjoying the story thusfar?” he taunted then smacked the flaccid length and Dietrich winced.  
  
“Takes a little more than stripping off in your library to get my dick hard, Magician,” Dietrich challenged. _Ah, the arrogance of youth._ Isaak licked the corner of his lip.  
  
“Perhaps I can change your mind,” he offered and the timbre of his voice prickled the teen’s skin. Before he could react, Isaak had him by the back of the neck and pressed a sharp kiss to his lips, the tender flesh shredding under his mentor’s fangs. Isaak then led them to a narrow reading table, his fingernails digging into the column of Dietrich’s throat as he stood behind him.  
“Once upon a time, there was a recalcitrant little slut called– “ Issak moved his hand to the boy’s back and forcibly pushed him down, his bare chest pressed against the tabletop. “Oh, I forget his name. We’ll call him _Stupid Bitch_ ,” he hissed, his hand beginning to brand a contusion at the centre of Dietrich’s back.  
  
The shadows harkened to their master’s will and snaked up the Marionettenspieler’s legs, holding them shoulder length apart. “Isaak,” Dietrich groaned, his voice muffled against the hard wood, his fingers curling impotently along the opposite edge. The mage continued, even as his hand then rose to lovingly smooth over auburn strands.  
  
“It seems that Stupid Bitch was given an important task and he carried it out, but not without a few dalliances along the way. He knew better than to tarry, but the lure of flesh compelled him to forget.” Isaak’s thin fingers caressed the mottled bruise on Dietrich’s cheek then went back to the boy’s silky hair. “You see, dearest, Stupid Bitch can’t go five minutes without a cock in his ass. Even if it interferes with a mission.” Issak voice was syrupy sweet but laced with strychnine. “And sometimes whores like him need to be corrected.”  
The mage’s hand left his charge’s hair and keenly cracked his ass, the smack echoing in the room. Dietrich smiled unseen and loosed a soft moan, rolling his hips up for another. Isaak’s hand landed precisely where it had the first time, only harder and the teen yelped, his exhale tapering off into a pleased purr.  
  
The boy was precious, he truly was. Thinking that Issak would summon his daemons for something as pedestrian as a spanking. Dietrich was adorable when he laboured under the misapprehension that he was getting off easy and the Panzermagier was determined his arrogant whelp would not get off– easy or otherwise.  
“Please correct me, Sir,” Dietrich drawled and his long lashes fell to shade his one visible eye as Isaak petted his hair. The magician’s fingers followed the line of his jaw and Dietrich captured a fingertip. He managed a single lick before Isaak pulled his hand away. Caramel eyes fluttered when his mentor’s hand dipped beneath him to run teasing fingers along his hardening length.  
  
“I’m glad you approve, Dietrich. However, as you know, faerie tales rarely end with _happily ever after_ – well, the real ones, anyway,” he mused and Dietrich’s biceps tensed as Isaak delivered another smack to his ass, this time on the other cheek, the drag of his nails drawing a hiss from the young man. “Shall I continue this sordid tale?” he asked, not expecting an answer, but Dietrich moaned in the affirmative, regardless.  
  
The hand moved along the boy’s back and flirted with the ends of Dietrich’s hair. Isaak brushed the auburn tresses off the nape of his neck and drew a finger along the fine hairs there. “Stupid Bitch returned to tell of his grande adventures and he knew his Prince was angry.” Isaak’s hand firmly fitted into Dietrich’s hair, the strands captured close to the scalp. “But the recalcitrant slut _pushed_ and _pushed_. And _pushed_ ,” he growled, each word punctuated by a harsh slam of Dietrich’s head into the highly polished surface of the table, each blow wrenching a pained grunt from the teen.  
  
Isaak’s hand remained tightly woven within the strands and he pressed his groin against Dietrich’s left asscheek, his clothed hardness nudging the defined muscle. “And the only course of action left open to the heartbroken Prince was to teach Stupid Bitch the consequences of such carelessly thought out actions.” The index finger of the mage’s free hand drew an ‘S’ through the blood that had pooled from Dietrich’s mouth onto the table. Isaak sampled the crimson offering with a subvocal purr. Dietrich tasted like poison-tainted cinnamon and the raven rolled his hips against the boy’s abused cheek then let out a sigh. “Oh, Dietrich. I’m afraid I can’t tell you how the story ends as it’s still being written,” he confessed and took a step back from the table, idly sucking on his finger.  
  
Dietrich laboured for breath, his tongue clearing his mouth of blood-tinted saliva which he unceremoniously spit out onto the table as his vision swam. He felt the shadows curl higher on his legs, now snaking around his spread thighs. A nip to his inner thigh caused him to suck in a breath and the shade licked the abraded flesh with a cold tongue. Another tendril slid down the length of his cock and Dietrich froze, his fingers tightening over the edge of the table as ice water danced down his spine.  
Isaak had only ever employed his shadows on Dietrich to shackle his limbs for other torments. He’d never let the creatures take it further than that and certainly not to bite him. His strings were useless in the position he held and the puppetmaster didn’t dare press his luck. A black cirrus then departed the mass to firmly clamp the base of Dietrich’s full arousal and he groaned.  
“Isaak,”  
  
Isaak observed his boy for a moment; the way his lip trembled, the deathgrip he had on the edge of the furniture and the delicious aura of fear that veiled his slightly damp skin. “I have been terribly negligent of my pets, Dietrich. I should be ashamed of myself, really,” he drawled, citing the teen’s earlier diatribe. Isaak put fingers to his tie and loosened it while he watched a phantom hand glide over Dietrich’s reddened ass.  
  
Isaak pulled a silver case out of his trouser pocket and selected a black stick then lit it, the sharp smell of clove piercing the air. “I won’t do it again, Meister,” Dietrich whispered and spit another mouthful of bloody saliva, sucking in a laboured breath as he fought down the nausea that threatened to bloom in the pit of his stomach. Isaak took a long draw from the cigarillo and let the smoke float from his blush lips then bent down and licked Dietrich’s lip, savouring the scant blood he stole from them. Clove and sanguine breath assaulted the redhead’s nose and he let out a quiet noise.  
  
“Mmm.. lies always did taste delicious on your lips, Liebling,” Isaak murmured and pulled a chair over to sit. He remained still for a moment then, holding the cigarillo between his fingers, Isaak ran the pad of his thumb over the hardness beneath his trousers. He brought the smoke to his lips again. “I wonder if you’ve ever heard of a _Folterbirne_ in your extensive experience, Marionettenspieler.” he mused and Dietrich’s brow furrowed. He lifted his head to look at the older man and licked his lip of the drying spittle, still finding it in him to be defiant.  
  
“I take it you’re not referring to something you’ve tried to cook, Panzemagier,” he iced and a shadowed hand shoved him down again, cracking his chin on the table. Dietrich bit his tongue and the taste of fresh blood dotted his tongue. Isaak smirked around his cigarillo and he raised a booted foot to the edge of the table, the toe of it then pressing against the teen’s forehead. As Isaak’s foot flexed, the movement tilted Dietrich’s head back so he could meet the dulcet caramel of his gaze.  
  
“Such pretty eyes once they're devoid of their own will,” the magician purred to himself and puffed on his smoke. The shadows stilled but kept their cool presence against Dietrich’s skin. Isaak sighed in his exhale and offered a smile to his protégé that didn’t reach his eyes. “No,” he finally answered with a brief chuckle that faded into the air of the room and Isaak moved his boot so that he could better see Dietrich’s eyes without removing his foot, turning the boy’s head on his neck at a painful angle. “It is a delightful device. Singularly beautiful in design and exceptionally abhorrent in its methodology.”  
Issak’s lips flirted with the nub of his cigarillo and the tip of his tongue sampled the clove oil that had been deposited on his lower lip. “You see, childe, humans have been– throughout history– appalling to one another. Such insidious creatures, as I’m sure you’re aware, ja?”  
  
Dietrich sucked in a breath, finding it difficult to catch a full lung with his head pushed back as it was. He reached for his mentor’s boot but a dark tendril whipped around his wrist and pulled it away, twisting the limb sharply against the small of his back. Dietrich growled and his gaze burned hotly into the coolly placid grey before him. He hated when Isaak referred to him as ‘childe’, though he knew the mage meant it in a different way– usually. “And they have the nerve to call _us_ monsters,” Isaak snorted disgustedly, a plume of smoke exiting his nose. Dietrich thought he looked like a dragon in that instance but a sharp bite to his left side disabused him of any notion to voice such an assessment.  
  
Dietrich swallowed the lump in his throat. “Terrans are stupid,” he opined before thinking but his eyes narrowed just the same as he waited for his the older man’s rebuttal. Isaak’s boot left his forehead to take up residence at the corner of the table and he smiled at his protégé. “You should know, _Geliebter_ ,” he supplied softly and flicked his cigarillo from finger and thumb. It landed on the teen’s back and Dietrich’s spine went serpentine as he tried to get the burning stick to roll off him. The cigarillo finally rolled to the tabletop, its tiny heat still felt by the puppetmaster’s side.  
  
Isaak’s fingers freed each pearlised button of his shirt, starting with the cuffs, and let the garment hang open. His dick pulsed beneath the metal of his zipper and he shot Dietrich a nasty leer. “Anyway. Do you remember your lessons on the Grand Inquisition of antiquity?” he asked and when his charge did not look at him, Isaak’s brows knotted. “Look at me, whore!” he barked and Dietrich rolled his eyes onto the man.  
  
Satisfied, Isaak continued his lecture. “It was the birth of the Church’s stranglehold on the lay population. They tortured, maimed and murdered in the name of their God. People like you, my dear,” he instructed as his shadows further tormented Dietrich’s flesh. They dragged nails along his scrotum, bit and laved at the young man’s thighs and Isaak smiled wantonly when Dietrich yelped as one bold form bit his asscheek. “No one that challenged their views nor those that were deemed ‘in league with the devil’ escaped persecution. Would the tables were turned, it would have been a most glorious chapter in history.”  
  
“Meister, please,” Dietrich pled, his arm aching from the unnatural position it held at his back. Behind him, the shadow daemons writhed in anticipation of their master’s mental commands, red eyes slitting in contrived amusement as the magician played with his toy. Ignoring Dietrich’s petition, Isaak continued.  
  
“One of the devices they used was the Folterbirne. There were three kinds, Dietrich, each designed to punish a specific crime. The oral for blasphemers, the vaginal for whores and witches and the anal for homosexuals.” Issak snorted, shaking his head. “Hypocritical, if you ask me. Then again, the Church always has been.” The tip of his tongue caressed a fang. “You’d think Armageddon would have straightened them out.”  
  
Isaak tsked then sighed. “I imagine I don’t need to tell you how the pear works. In many instances, a practical demonstration is the best way to convey it,” he said and let his foot drop from the table. He stood and a hand sifted through Dietrich’s hair. Isaak lovingly brushed the auburn locks away from his boy’s face and peered down at him over the bare line of his chest. Dietrich’s eyes looked at a point on the wall. He didn’t recall ever seeing such an item in Isaak’s vast collection but the thought of the device scratched at the base of his skull. Would the thing just stretch him out or what? He imagined a spikey pear tearing his insides or shredding his mouth and he again struggled against the shadows that held him fast as if they had substance.  
  
“Issak, I’m sorry,” he groaned. “I won’t–“ Dietrich’s words melted into a cry as one of the daemons penetrated him with a thin tendril. His unprepared enterance tried to close against the invasion but it wormed its way deeper inside him. The young man breathed through the pain and he opened his eyes to the sight of Isaak undoing his Orden-issue belt.  
  
The leather tails hung from the loops of the mage’s trousers and Dietrich could see the firm line of his mentor’s cock beneath the black worsted. “Unfortunately I do not possess this item, but I feel I can give you a decent enough representation,” he confidently assured and Dietrich’s fingers went white in the hold he had on the table edge as the shadow within him began to swell. His cries increased in volume and the magician simply raised his voice to be heard over the fuss his charge made. “The original was designed to expand as an ornate screw was turned in the handle, the increasing breadth purposed to either distend or permanently mutilate.”  
  
“Oh God! Please, Isaak– Meister!” Dietrich shrieked. The shadow daemon granted no pleasure, didn’t move in and out of him. It simply conformed to the shape its master had described. Isaak leered down at the teen as he mentally commanded the shade to open like the petals of a flower. He wouldn’t let it go too far. After all, the mage didn’t deem it necessary to mutilate the boy to the point where he wouldn’t be fit for his enjoyment.  
  
Dietrich’s breath was truncated and shallow as the shadow had opened him to the width of the magician’s wrist. Tears dotted the tabletop and the he pled to Isaak to release him, promising things that weren’t in his power nor his true inclination to grant– anything to make it stop. The raven petted his head then unbuttoned his trousers. The zip quietly rushed open and Isaak stroked Dietrich’s cheek, smearing the trails of his tears along the cut flesh. “At least you’re consistent. And since my minions are busy at your backside, I suppose I’ll have to make do with your mouth.”  
  
Dietrich’s eyes dropped to watch Isaak’s hand fit between the fly of his trousers and he managed to glare up at him, swallowing down the bile that wanted to rise in his throat. “Go to hell, you son of a bitch!” he snarled, the sound melting into a drawn out yelp as the shape inside him grew a tic wider. His cock hung painfully engorged, and Dietrich saw stars as, when he moved, it bumped against the edge of the table.  
  
Isaak grabbed his Dietrich’s jaw, forcing his chin up. “Don’t you _act_ for me, slut! I can smell your lust,” he shot back then slapped him. His hand again fitted into his trousers and brought out his cock, holding it close to the puppetmaster’s mouth.  
Dietrich turned his head and let out another cry as the tendril in his ass expanded again. A breath hissed between his clenched teeth when Isaak wrenched his head up off the table by his hair.  
  
“Fuck you!” Dietrich snapped and the magician directed the head of his cock to wipe along the boy’s swollen lips.  
  
“Suck it, you dirty little bastard!” he ordered sharply and the teen parted his lips, barely catching a breath as Isaak shoved his dick between them. Grey eyes narrowed above and fingers further constricted into a fist within the auburn locks. “Bite and you’ll regret it, boy,” Issak warned. Dietrich’s throat clenched around the head and a tear breached his lashes as the invasion triggered his gag reflex.  
  
His neck ached at the strained angle and he laved Isaak’s cock the best he could, drawing in his cheeks as the man fucked his face. Isaak’s jaw twitched and he thrust into the warm cavern of his protégé’s mouth. The metal of his zipper abraded Dietrich’s chin with each drive forward, and the shadow daemon in the redhead’s ass then narrowed and began to mime its master’s rhythm.  
  
Dietrich groaned around the shaft in his mouth as the pain slowly ebbed to be replaced with a hollow pleasure. The vibrations pulled Issak’s lips into a dark leer and he loosened his grip but palmed the back of Dietrich’s head as he used him. “Harder, Dearest?” he coarsely teased, his narrow hips grinding against the boy’s face. “I think we found a way to curtail that wicked mouth of yours, ja?” he knifed then dragged his fingers along his charge’s jaw in the mockery of a lover’s caress. Isaak arched a brow, then. “You’re not _crying_ are you, Marionettenspieler?” he needled and both hands fit into the soft, auburn hair as the magician surged faster between Dietrich’s abused lips.  
  
Even though he was still angry at Dietrich, Isaak would never deny that the boy’s mouth was exquisite and coupled with the watery glance that conveyed such delicious pain, the raven found it increasingly difficult to maintain– damn him to hell! Another moan broke around his dick and Isaak bit back an answering sound.  
Dietrich felt his arousal mounting but with no outlet, it quickly became unbearable; the cirrus around the base of his cock still tormenting him. His arms were released and hands immediately wrapped around Isaak’s clothed thighs, holding on with all they had as he sucked his mentor off.  
  
Breaths sharply entered and exited Dietrich’s nose, the scent of Isaak adding to the lust coursing through his veins. The shadow slipped from the teen’s ass and Isaak’s hips stilled, his hands fisting Dietrich’s hair as he came with a subvocal growl. Dietrich held his breath as pulse after pulse assaulted his throat. “All of it, childe,” Issak ordered then finally released his head and slipped his softening cock from the boy’s mouth. He was still half-hard but he tucked the length into his trousers and zipped up then resumed his seat and fished out another smoke.  
  
The daemons retreated from the table, returning to the shadows of the library and Dietrich panted. He slowly drew a hand along the tabletop and Isaak’s eyes narrowed knowingly. “Keep your hands away from your dick,” he evenly admonished and took a deep draw off the perfumed stick. After a few moments, Dietrich put palms to either side of him and raised up, locking his elbows. His left eye twitched and he was still hard but he shot Isaak a prurient moue.  
  
“Will you let me come, Meister?” he purred and carefully dropped to his knees. A bolt of pain shot up his spine and Isaak watched with mild interest as the teen crawled beneath the table to his feet. Caramel eyes peeked from impossibly long lashes and Dietrich cocked his head as he gingerly sat on his heels. “Please?” he tacked on and Isaak let a long plume of smoke halo his ebony hair, seeming for all the world to be considering it.  
  
The Panzermagier sensually drew the tip of his tongue along the seam of his lips and passed a lazy smile to his protégé then raised his boot to Dietrich’s chest and shoved him onto his abused backside. “I think you’ve had enough, little one,” he opined over the hissed expletive that shot from Dietrich’s mouth.  
  
The room grew deathly quiet and the only sounds to be heard was the deep ticking of the clock and the faint crackle of the fireplace. Dietrich pondered his strings but cast the though aside; he wouldn’t be a fool twice in one night, but he wanted release and he would do anything to get it. Isaak anticipated the brat would try to persuade him again and before the puppetmaster could finish another ‘please’, he’d cut in. “Dietrich,” he warned then dropped eyes to the carpet beneath the boy. “Mind the rug, if you’d be so kind. Blood’s hell to shift,” Isaak drawled and came to his feet then stepped away from him. He picked up the book he’d earlier been reading, along with his glasses, his boots tamping out an even beat across the floor as he made for his private rooms.


End file.
